The Lonely One
by Hope Meijer
Summary: Craig and Richard were gone. She couldn't sense them any more. For the first time since the crash in Tibet, Sharron Macready knew what it was to be completely and utterly alone.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: For Stephen, Nasima and everyone on the Champions Club for reminding me what a fantastic series this is and providing an outlet for my fangirlishness._

_A note on the relationships – I particularly love the bond they share on the show, and write it as close to the show as possible. It's obvious they are very close, but just be reminded that you can take that closeness however you like. Personally I don't mind OT3, but if you think it's just friendship then that is all it has to be to you._

_This is sort of a mix of lots of ideas, taken from The Sixth Sense Is Death, The Experiment, The Invisible Man and even from one of Clive Cussler's books. I've changed the canon a bit too...so if you want to call it AU please do so! I call it writer's license!_

_Disclaimer: This is purely for the entertainment and enjoyment of fans and the writer. I am not gaining profit from this in any way. No infringement intended. Basically, I don't own the Champions and I promise I will put them back neatly when I've finished playing._

* * *

THE RITZ HOTEL, LONDON, FRIDAY JULY 7TH, 7:00PM

It was seven o'clock in the evening, and the foyer of the Ritz hotel in London was busy. Important and officious-looking men mingled with regal, elegant women, and the air was buzzing with chatter. Waiters and bar-men stood at the sides, offering drinks on decorated trays and guiding people to conference rooms and the dining area.

Amongst the mingling crowd, one waiter seemed out of place. His uniform looked slightly taut over his skin as if it were slightly too small for him, and his hair wasn't neatly combed back and set in place – instead it stuck up in clumps and attracted the disproving looks of more than a few curious women. Yet he did nothing to tame it. Nor did he do anything, in fact, apart from scan the crowd with sharp eyes, his face set in a neutrally blank expression.

He was watched by another suspicious man, this time in dark clothing, standing in the corner of the foyer half hidden by shadows. No one noticed him. It was as if he were invisible. People who glanced in that direction merely saw the curtain and a dark shadow.

The not-quite-waiter locked his gaze on an elderly gentleman standing to the left of the entrance; a British Diplomat there purely to socialise with those of similar status. Despite the cost of the Ritz (even to just drink and dine) he put in an appearance to boost his reputation. He was currently standing with his wife and a colleague, and the 'waiter' approached him, waiting for the voice in his head to tell him what to do next. The path in front of him cleared and he raised his small pistol with the silencer fitted on the front until it was levelled with the diplomat.

"_NOW!"_ he heard, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

And then stopped.

"_What are you waiting for?"_ the voice in his head hissed, but he ignored it. Confusion fluttered over his face and suddenly everything happened at once. Someone screamed at the sight of the gun, and the 'waiter' stared around until he realised it was him they were screaming about. The elderly diplomat had frozen at the sight of the weapon pointed at him, but someone grabbed him and pulled him out of harm's way. Two security staff grabbed the would-be assassin and knocked the gun out of his hand.

He started to struggle.

"Hey! What's going on? Where am I?"

The man hidden in the corner released a frustrated sigh and pulled out his own gun, also fitted with a silencer. He aimed it at the straining, confused man and pulled the trigger twice. Two bullet holes appeared in his chest and started to leak blood, spreading over the starched white uniform. Before anyone could register what had happened, he was out the door. People could hear the screams from inside the hotel and were crowding round the entrance to see what was happening. He slipped through the spectators without being noticed and sprinted into a back street. Catching his breath, he pulled a radio out of his pocket and switched it on. Almost immediately he heard a voice crackling through the static at him.

"_Report, Abbott."_

"It failed. He came to just as he had the shot."

"_That's the second failure. What are we doing wrong?"_

"I don't know, but we've got to do something about it."

There was a pause. Then the voice came again, an important decision having been made. _"Make sure there's nothing to incriminate us. Nemesis will be in soon. Then get over to Geneva for tomorrow evening. It's time we brought Miss Macready on board."_

* * *

_Review? Please?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: After my exam (last one tomorrow) I'll be able to update more of my stories more often. Please bear with me!_

_Thanks to Nasima for her review and all the support I'm getting from the fan club!_

* * *

THE APARTMENT, GENEVA, SATURDAY JULY 8TH, 10:45PM 

Sharron Macready stared out of the window at the twinkling lights of Geneva and took a sip of water. Her room was dark, and she had taken a few minutes to stand and think before she went to bed. She was one third of a very important trio of Nemesis agents – the other two her closest friends Richard Barrett and Craig Stirling. All from different backgrounds, they had found themselves thrown together on a mission to China to retrieve some bacteria samples. When their plane had been shot down over Tibet, they had awoken to find themselves with heightened senses, improved reflexes, higher pain tolerance...improved everything, in fact. They also found they had a telepathic link which enabled them to sense each other's presence, communicate silently and feel if any of them were in danger. They weren't immortal – Richard had found that out after being bitten by a poisonous snake – but they had the treasured ability to heal each other to a certain extent, and in the case of Richard's bite, Sharron had started his heart again even though she was fifty miles away from him. Over the years their extraordinary talents had improved and strengthened, and under the watchful eye of Tremayne, head of Nemesis, they had solved many difficult cases and become known as Nemesis' best agents.

Their close bond, whilst being a godsend, could at times be a curse. During a particularly strenuous mission, Richard had lost his apartment to explosives and Sharron had been out of contact to Craig at a particularly crucial moment, and so they had decided to get a place together, where they knew they could keep an eye on each other. Unfortunately, this meant that any relationships they had tried to forge with others came to quick and sometimes painful ends. The prospective partners were suspicious of the closeness the trio shared, and a couple of times dates had been broken in the middle because one had been injured and the other two would go rushing to help them. The only explanation they had been able to give afterwards was "I just knew", further fuelling suspicions. So instead they had drawn closer to one another, and to the safety and comfort that the simple-yet-complicated bond provided.

Sharron took one last sip of water and moved away from the window, closing the curtains and setting the glass down on her bedside table. She was the only one in the spacious apartment at that moment, as Craig and Richard were still down the local bar showing off their prowess at darts – one of the many small things in life that had been changed drastically after the plane crash and following events. She had rebuked several amorous advances from a particularly friendly (and drunk) local boy in the bar, and by ten had decided to retire for the night. She wasn't really tired, but Tremayne had asked them to go in on Sunday to start a new and hopefully simple investigation.

"_Sharron, sweetheart, did you get home all right?"_ she heard Richard mentally ask.

"_I'm fine,"_ she replied.

"_You looked a little peaky earlier,"_ Craig added.

"_Why, thank you,"_ she shot back, and she could feel his amusement at her sarcasm.

"_We'll be back soon. Stay out of trouble until we get home,"_ Craig said, then she felt him 'disappear' from the conversation. She could still feel him there, in some minute corner of her mind, but he had 'retreated' into the background. That was the way it always happened with them, and instead of being daunted by this strange connection, Sharron was comforted by it. They were there for her, and whenever she needed them and they were somewhere completely different, all she had to do was reach out mentally and she could feel them.

"_I'll keep an eye on him,"_ Richard murmured humorously, and then he, too, was gone. Alone (in a purely physical sense), Sharron turned over and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

THE APARTMENT, GENEVA, SUNDAY JULY 9TH, 2.10AM 

The curtains and netting over the window of the sitting room fluttered in the breeze that was suddenly introduced through the open window. A black shadow slipped into the room and stealthily crept over to where he knew Miss Macready's room was. There was a slight creak as he stepped on a weak area of the floor, but when he paused there was only the sound of heavy breathing and one of the men turning over in his sleep. They wouldn't be able to hear him, he knew. He had followed them for most of Saturday and when they'd gone into the bar he'd slipped slow-acting sedatives into their drinks towards the end of the evening. They had got home and simply collapsed onto their beds, asleep before their heads hit the pillows. He had read their files and knew that they were extremely strong – so much so that even twice the safe amount for humans would barely affect the two men.

Satisfied they wouldn't be disturbing him for a while, he opened the door to Miss Macready's room and slid inside. It was cloudy outside, and although he had been thankful of that when he was scaling the side of the building to enter the apartment, it meant that he had limited time to find Miss Macready's arm and inject the fast-acting sedative into her bloodstream before she woke up and found him there. Luckily for him, the clouds thinned out briefly and allowed him to walk round to the side of her bed, pull out a syringe and plunge the needle into her exposed forearm. He watched as she tensed and then relaxed, the effects of the sedative kicking in almost immediately.

Now that he knew no one would disturb him, he could take his time. Reaching back into the bag he'd brought with him, he dumped the now-empty syringe in a pocket and retrieved a headband with a surgeon's light on the front and a small case of medical equipment. Putting the headband on and switching the light on, he set the case on the floor whilst he rearranged his patient, turning her onto her front and making a small headrest out of her pillows so he could work comfortably and not suffocate her in the meantime. When she was ready, he turned the focused beam of light toward her head, made a parting in her loose hair at the base of her skull, and produced a scalpel with which he made a neat vertical incision no longer than the nail of his little finger. Then he retrieved a small phial which contained a tiny chip of some sort. Using a pair of tweezers, he inserted the chip into the incision, and finally closed the 'wound' back up using some surgical glue he had developed for operations much like this one.

It had barely been ten minutes since he entered the apartment, and he now placed everything back into the bag and got up to arrange Miss Macready in a similar position to the one he found her in; lying on her back, hair spread over the pillow and covers pulled up over her. He stood and admired the view for a moment, then tugged the covers back up and walked out to the front door. No one would hear him, so he let himself out and exited the building in a casual manner. The radio was once more obtained from his pocket and switched on.

"All done."

"_Good. Give it a couple of days, then we can get everything started."_

"Will do."

Dr. Stephen Abbott switched the radio off and strolled down the street towards his hotel, whistling jauntily along the way.

* * *

_Author's Note: Please review, I like to know what's good and what's not._


	3. Chapter 3

THE APARTMENT, GENEVA, SUNDAY JULY 9TH, 11:20AM

Sharron yawned and rolled over, her first instinct to check the clock. They had a meeting with Tremayne and she didn't particularly want to be late – he had a certain dislike for tardy agents.

The sun filtered through a gap in the curtains and she squinted, feeling very drained and headachy that morning. She noticed a piece of notepaper resting over her clock, and picked it up, realising with a shock it was past eleven. She read the note as she half-listened to the morning hum outside her window. It contained Richard's neat print, interrupted every so often by Craig's flowing script.

_Good morning, sleepyhead!_ (it read)

_You were fast asleep when we got up, and since Tremayne mentioned it was only a small case _(here Craig interrupted with; **and you showed absolutely no sign of waking up. I was going to jump on your bed but Richard wouldn't let me...**) _we thought there was no need to get you up._

_We'll talk to Tremayne and see if we need to get you involved _(**you looked too cute lying there to disturb**) _and will brief you ourselves if necessary _(**briefly**).

_Will see you later._

_- R_

**You need your beauty sleep – you looked awful this morning...**

**- C**

With a wry smile, Sharron shook her head and dropped the note onto the covers in front of her. Craig always made cracks to make her smile. Richard once described them as a married couple, but Richard and Craig were usually bickering about one thing or another, so she supposed it worked both ways. Deep down, thought, she knew Craig was a worrier. They were both very protective of her but Richard put more faith in her strength and independence. Craig was continuously worrying about her and where she was and what was happening – even though he always tried to cover it up with sarcasm and wisecracks. It was all rather sweet.

She glanced back at the note, then let her head fall back onto the pillows. They were right – she was feeling very tired this morning. So she intended to take full advantage of the lie-in they'd given her.

* * *

TREMAYNE'S OFFICE, GENEVA, SUNDAY JULY 9TH, 8:00AM 

Tremayne watched as Craig and Richard entered his office, bickering light-heartedly about something. He detected a certain lethargy to the two men, which was fairly unusual. They were always on top form and highly alert, but this morning not even the banter could disguise the half-lidded expression Richard carried, nor the dullness to Craig's eyes.

"Good morning, Barrett, Stirling."

"Morning, sir," they replied, and sat in the chairs he waved at.

"Where's Sharron?"

"She's still at home, sir," Craig replied.

"She didn't wake up this morning, and we thought it might be best to leave her to sleep," Richard said.

"She was looking a little peaky last night," Craig added helpfully. Richard threw him a glance.

Tremayne nodded. "Very well, I don't really need her for this one, but if you want to brief her when you get back, then feel free."

"What have we got this time, then?" Craig questioned.

"On Friday night, an attempt was made on this man's life." He held up a photo and handed it to Craig, who glanced at it and passed it to Richard. "John Farneshaw. He's a British diplomat and was socialising at the Ritz in London. Attacker was in waiter's uniform but not on the staff – this was later confirmed, as the waiter he stole the uniform from was later found bound and gagged in a storage closet. Had a small pistol with silencer which he tried to use, but was subdued. He claimed that he had no idea what was going on or why he was there." He handed them another photo, this time of a corpse. "He was shot twice in the chest. Dead before he hit the ground. Killer disappeared into thin air. No one saw him enter, shoot or exit."

"Clean up," Richard murmured. "Attempt failed, so get rid of the possible incriminating evidence. In this case, the would-be assassin."

"Indeed," Tremayne agreed. "Now, this isn't the first time it's happened. A month ago, Farneshaw was nearly killed in his office, when a delivery boy suddenly pulled a gun on him. The same thing happened. Suddenly had no idea what he was doing or where he was, and some invisible – let's say 'accompli' if we're working with your clean-up theory, Richard – shot him twice in the back but got clean away."

"Excuse my cynicism, but what are we supposed to do about it?" Craig asked. "Surely Scotland Yard can handle it?"

Tremayne sighed. "John is a personal friend of mine. He requested that we get involved – with or without Scotland Yard's cooperation – as a favour, and see what we make of it. Scotland Yard don't seem to be handling it quite up to his expectation."

"As in, not giving it very high priority?" Richard asked.

"Exactly. So I want you to fly to London, meet him and hear what he has to say. We've got our hands on the files of the two events, but they don't seem to hold much conclusion."

Richard frowned, distracted. "For what?"

"The case," Tremayne pressed. "What we've been talking about for the last ten minutes."

"Yes. Of course." He shook his head lightly as if to clear it, ignoring Craig's curious stare.

"Very well. You two may go. I'll get my secretary to call you this afternoon with the flight details."

Craig and Richard got up, nodded at Tremayne and headed for the door.

"And tell Sharron to get better soon," Tremayne added as an afterthought.

"Pardon?" Craig had reached the door and turned round, looking mildly confused.

"Sharron," Tremayne prompted. "You said she was looking a little peaky last night."

"Oh, yes, she did. We'll tell her."

"Are you two all right? You seem a bit...distracted, this morning."

"We do?" Richard asked.

Tremayne sighed. "Yes, you do."

"Oh. Well, there's nothing wrong, sir. We're fine."

"Fine." But as he pressed the door release button, Tremayne saw the two of them share a look which meant they had no idea what was wrong, either.

* * *

THE APARTMENT, GENEVA, SUNDAY JULY 9TH, 12:15PM 

The smell of coffee awoke Sharron and alerted her to the presence of her two colleagues. The meeting was obviously over and they had had time to go shopping – a very rare action for either of them to take, but if they were out of coffee then it was desperate.

She cracked open her eyes and saw Craig sitting at her side, waving a cup of coffee gently in front of her face, grinning. An amused Richard sat behind him.

"Come on sleepyhead, no one sleeps in this long," Craig commented, moving back so she could pull herself into a sitting position and take the coffee he was offering. She sent them a sleepy smile and nodded.

"I know, but I'm awfully tired," she replied. "I don't know what's causing it."

Richard and Craig shared a glance. "We know – we feel it too. That sort of headachy lethargy," Richard said. Sharron nodded again, sipping at the coffee and gradually feeling more awake.

"So what's Tremayne got for us this time?" she asked.

"We're off to London this afternoon. Or evening," Craig amended, looking at his watch, "depending what flight they get us on."

"Just a couple of attempted murders. We're going to investigate as a favour for the intended victim – he's a friend of Tremayne," Richard added. "We won't bore you with details." He and Craig moved to stand up but Sharron gripped Craig's arm.

"Oh no you don't," she admonished. "I'm coming with you."

Craig pried her hand off his arm (her grip could get very strong when she wanted it to). "We just thought..." he started.

"Since you were so tired..." Richard continued.

"Well you thought wrong," Sharron told them. "I'm coming with you and that's final. Besides, I need to get some fresh air, and what's better than fresh English air?"

Richard and Craig sighed. They didn't need the telepathic link to know she wouldn't take no for an answer.

"All right, you can come with us. It should be fairly simple. Go and have a shower – you'll feel more awake. Craig and I will fill you in properly later." Richard and Craig got up, Craig patting her cheek lightly, and left the room.

She finished her coffee and took a long shower, and as she stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a large towel, she heard the telephone ring. Craig answered it, shouting for Richard to take notes.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Richard yelled back, appearing from his room and winking at Sharron as she passed him, going into her room to get dressed. He continued to the living area, where Craig was already talking into the phone. He listened in to the conversation from where he was perched on the sofa, paper on his knee and pen in hand.

"Yes, that's fine," he heard Craig say, and Tremayne's secretary replied with, "We weren't sure if Miss Macready was joining you but we booked her a place anyway. You'll be met at London Airport by a pre-arranged taxi driver who will take you to your hotel. At seven o'clock, Mr Farneshaw's chauffeur will collect you and take you to his residence for dinner. You've been given three days for this case. At the end of those three days you are expected to return, whether you have solved it or not." She went on to give both flight details and inform them someone would be at the airport to give them their tickets. Richard duly noted everything down (he didn't rely on his photographic memory as much as the others) and Craig thanked her one last time before hanging up.

As they made their way to their rooms to pack, Craig knocked on Sharron's door. "All right sweetcheeks, get packing. We're leaving in a few hours," he called.

In her room, Sharron rolled her eyes at the endearment and reached for her travel case.

* * *

_Author's Note: Review?_


End file.
